Sacrifice
by kebzero
Summary: Love and war rarely mix well.


  
**Sacrifice**   
  
_Contents/Warnings:_ Death, blodshed and slight gore below.   
_Disclaimer:_ Blizzard Entertainment owns the Starcraft universe. I'm just abusing it.   
  
  
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Michaels was a good man. He had shown incredible bravery in battle numerous times - some would say the man had a death wish. Not so. If anything, he fought to stay alive; for to the last, he had something most of us didn't; something to return to, should the war end. Though he never directly saved _my_ life, his actions had - if nothing else - extended the lives of most of the men under my command. That is one reason why it hurt overhearing the current comments coming from his former comrades in arms. 

"Michaels flipped," one stated. "The crazy son-of-a-bitch ran straight out at the battlefield. I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did." 

"Yeah, you don't leave your bunker while the Zerg attack, unless you're retreatin'," a second remarked. 

"Here's to 'Madman' Michaels - a crazy bastard to the last!" They raised their glasses in a mock salute. 

There was some truth in their statements, but fragments can never reveal the whole story. Michaels had indeed left the safety of their bunker and run straight across the still raging onslaught. From my position in the fray, mounted high up in the bowels of a Goliath, I could see him running. It took me a while to figure out just _where_ he was heading, and why. When I finally realized, it made perfect sense. 

------- 

When the Zerg arrived here, central command immediately ordered the evacuation of all outlying areas, gathering the populace and all military resources around the major city centers - more specifically, around the major spaceports. They were hoping to evacuate at least _some_ of the people here - those who could pay the suddenly increased ticket prices, first and foremost. The few transports available were filled beyond capacity virtually instantaneously. A request for more had been sent, but few had hopes of any help arriving in time. The Zerg had initiated a blockade; any ship trying to leave, was destroyed. The few Wraiths still left would not be enough to even attempt breaking the blockade. This was before the assaults took place - two days after the Zerg arrived, the blockade was a fact. Two days after that, the savage ground attacks began. 

------- 

Michaels had gained his popularity among the troops the hard way - by risking life and limbs for them. He had been wounded countless times, occasionally seriously so. How he managed to stay alive through it all, never seized to amaze me. If you didn't know him, you'd think Michaels _did_ have a death wish. I don't think he did - not until his last few living minutes, at least. 

------- 

Two weeks before the Zerg arrived, Michaels had shown me a picture of a beautiful young woman. With a wide grin, he introduced here as his fiancée. At first, I didn't believe him. Just about every soldier had a 'fiancée' tucked away somewhere, a warm body to think of whenever one wanted to escape the grim battle mentality so often descending upon soldiers while risking their lives, or waiting to do so. Then I looked at his face. His eyes were locked firmly on the picture, as if his mere stare would make the image come to life - in his mind, it probably did. That dazed expression signaled one thing more vividly than any words could; this woman was far more to Michaels than a fling to take advantage of, to take his thoughts away from combat, more than a someone used for a quick 'roll in the hey' at any available occasion. Michaels was in love with her, and being away from her was killing him. 

------- 

The evacuation fleet _did_ come. Four gargantuan cargo ships escorted by a handful of battlecruisers and a few wings of Wraiths. They had even dispatched a science vessel to oversee the whole operation. Clearly, someone of high stature was still present at the planet. 

The blockade was broken, dropships, descended from the cargo ships to the surface, immediately started evacuating civilians and wounded personnel. A few cities had already fallen by the time the fleet arrived. More than half the cities would be lost before the evacuation was complete. They are still compiling the casualty lists; both civilian and military. I've seen those grim, long lists before, enough times not to get shocked at their sheer length. The numerous names didn't stick anymore, made no impressions whatsoever, not even those I once knew - all except one; Michaels' name. 

------- 

Some days after the ground assaults began, I found out a bit more of the lovely woman on the picture. She was a communications officer at a command center closer to the front lines. Her record showed her to be as stubborn and determined a soldier as Michaels, if not even more. Even at his insistence for her to leave, she remained. Fleeing before a retreat was called, was as unacceptable to her as to him. This left him almost constantly worried - terrified that she might be hurt, or dying. Fortunately, her position allowed for more than the irregular, brief exchange of well-chosen words so frequently limiting the contact of the average marine with the world beyond shouting distance. Unfortunately, after getting used to talking to her several times a day, the sudden loss of contact with her outpost sent Michaels into a deep depression, bordering on panic. 

------- 

The men now laughing at this great man, remained in the bunker when he ran out. Their cover fire was what saved me when an ultralisk chopped off my Goliath's right leg, sending the machine to the ground, and me tumbling out of the shattered cockpit. I had never crawled so fast in my life, shells and spines whistling past - across me, sharp shrills drilling themselves deep inside my skull, distant death cries of men and beasts alike resonating all around me. An Arclite shell hit behind me, splattering the ultralisk busy carving up my fallen Goliath. Its innards sprayed over me, the foul, half-rotten smell of its now dead flesh penetrating even my still-attached oxygen mask. Yet, I didn't think of it at all. I didn't stop moving. I did not dare. A Zerg never travels alone, they always come in hordes. When one falls, two will fill its space within minutes. I had almost reached the safety of the bunker when I saw something that made me pause, if for but a second or two - the twisted, shattered right arm of Michaels, hand still clutching the picture. 

------- 

The men have told me he had been on lookout duty in the minutes before he ran out. They couldn't understand why he did it. To them, he simply lost his mind. They couldn't have saved him even if they had tried, they thought. They were probably right, and I can't say I'm unhappy they remained in the bunker to cover my retreat just a few minutes later. 

------- 

I was at the front lines far beyond the rear perimeter bunker when I first noticed the lone figure running across the battlefield. Michaels' one-tracked mind did not notice the two zerglings heading for him. I did - I zoomed in on the first, pulled the trigger of the twin autocannons as soon as the onboard computer signaled target lock. As the second zergling burst to pieces, I saw it. The view, still zoomed in tightly, showed another human figure staggering towards Michaels. The suit was cracked open in several places, deep dents and gashes littered all over it. The soldier was covered in the flesh of dead Zerg, as I would be soon after. Blood seeping from countless wounds was mixing with a green, sticky substance hindering movement - _her_ movement, for it was at that moment I remembered the distorted face; it was Michaels' fiancée. 

------- 

Soon after I crawled into the perimeter bunker, the final order came. We were to pull back immediately, run for the dropships and pray we would make it on time. The orders didn't say all that, naturally, but we knew all too well what it meant. It was every man for himself. We ran. All around us, others were also fleeing for their lives. Behind, we could hear the shrieks of countless Zerg critters advancing, whatever controlling them now aware of our retreat, our defeat. Two battlecruisers and a wing of Wraiths provided air support for our run, but it would not be enough to halt the advance for long. A lone hydralisk came at us from out of nowhere. The marine next to me, no more than a mere kid, lost all beneath the knees in a swift cut. Our gauss rifles killed the beast before it could rip the kid apart. I grabbed the kid's arm, ordered the others to help. Screaming at the top of his lungs, we could do nothing more for him than carry him, hoping the suit's auto-medic components worked, stuffing the kid full with painkillers. 

We reached the dropship last, barely making it before take-off because of our extra weight - not yet _dead_ weight, but getting there fast. As the doors closed behind us, I cried for a medic. A towering woman appeared, took one look at the kid, and decided on treatment. Another dose of tranquilizers was administered before she used a laser scalpel to make clean cuts right beneath the knees, heat melting flesh and bone, plugging up the rampant bleedings. A quick and dirty fix, but she could do little more. There were countless others in the dropship crying in agony, barely clinging to life. She told me to bring the kid to the sick bay as soon as we arrived at the cargo ship. I did. It was not until I left that waiting-room of death I realized I still held the picture clutched in my hand; a last memorabilia of a courageous man. 

------- 

I remembered what she looked like on the picture, and in my zoomed view from inside the Goliath, I compared the real now with the posing past. She was the same, I first thought. But I did not see what Michaels then saw. I could see his face turn from pure bliss of seeing her again, to one of sheer terror. The Zerg flesh around her, was not dead, but living. She had been infested. 

The once beautiful woman still staggered towards Michaels, the green slime slowing her down to a crawl. I was shocked as much as Michaels, but then trained reflexes set in. I brought the twin autocannons online, reacquired a target - her. Yet, I did not pull the trigger. In the corner of my view, I could see Michaels, shock absorbed and overcome, replaced by something else. He was crying. He did not turn and run. In his hand, I saw the picture, clutched in a pre-mortem grip. I saw him close his eyes, extending his arms as if to embrace her. He began walking towards her, steps steady, panic and fear not there - sorrow, maybe, but not despair. I let go of the trigger. I understood. His former friends did not, and still don't. 

------- 

"Here's to 'Madman' Michaels, nuts, but braver than anyone," they toasted yet again. 

"I still can't believe it! He ran out there, and hugged the damn zergie!" 

"Yeah, one of 'em explosive ones, too. What a way to go." 

"Definitely went out with a bang!" 

They laughed. They ridiculed his actions further. They called him insane. And they failed to see the whole picture. 

Michaels' behavior was characteristic up to the last. When he realized what his fiancée had become - a weapon of the enemy - he made a choice. A cold, logical choice, but also a choice of heart. If he ran, she would have followed. If he had run towards the bunker, she would have detonated there, probably killing many of his fellow marines. That was not an option. She would die. She already was - in mind and spirit, if not yet in flesh. He must have decided he couldn't live without her, without the anchor keeping him calm in the furious storms of war. He sacrificed himself, both for his friends, for his love, and for himself. 

I cannot know this for sure, of course. It is merely my view on what took place this fateful day. It's what I wrote in the report I gave my superiors. They awarded Michaels another medal, one neither he nor anyone else could enjoy. They couldn't have done much more, except telling his story - or at least my twisted version of it - to his troop. They refused. It would be bad for morale, they claimed. No need to make the marines grieve over him even more if the true tragedy, rather than the story of the madman snapping, got out. Soldiers had enough to cloud their minds already, no need to clutter it further with such a petty thing as _truth_. 

So, I alone, except for a few officers, will ever know the true fate of Michaels. Of those he saved, I am the only one who realize his sacrifice. The other soldiers, the civilians, the kid lying in stasis in sick bay - they all hold the gift of ignorance in this matter. 

I consider going down to see the kid soon - I don't know if he'll bless or curse me for ordering the rescue of his shattered life and mangled body. Young men like him see nothing else but glory in battle; death being among the glories until you brush with it. In my hand, I still hold the crumpled photograph of a beautiful, young woman. Her eyes bright and piercing, her smile making my knees weak. Perhaps it is my turn to dream of an imaginary fiancée, so I can forget the true story behind the bloodstained picture. 

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
